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| Date of RP: 12/10/02 Current Record (IWF): 2/0/3 Current Accomplishments: IWF Bad-Ass Champion Check out all the IWF action here. |
~~What do you do when you can't trust anyone?
What do you do when your whole world has been shattered, and all you
are left with are fragments of a mirror, slivers of time, frozen to the last
minute they looked upon something of beauty? What do you do?.~~ ~~You build some trust of your own...or,
more importantly, you contact THE TRU$T.~~
 VOICE: Damn it...where the hell are they? ~~But there are some things that he just doesn't care about anymore...money, fame, power. He's a man of the ring, and in the ring he will stay. He's spent some time away from that ring, only to come back finding things a little more different...changed with time. No longer are the houses packed with fans hungry for the chilling conspiracies of the darkness...no longer are there men in mullets, besides the fans, moving around in mindless massive herds, in neon colors and spandex. Times have changed, music has changed, people have changed...but one thing will always remain the same- KMD is and always will be The King of Legends.~~ VOICE: Son of a bitch. Where the shit- ~~Another thing thats changed, along with the times, are cravings. Sure, KMD craves gold...who wouldn't? But the thing that seperates him from most other men is his need to get gold the right way...the way of the warrior...proving to himself that he still has what was gifted with. When peoples appetites changed, they wanted less of the darkness, less of the bleakness...but they wanted something a little more...a little more blood...and, well, as sick as the two are together, a little more comedy.~~ VOICE: Skinny...Skinny that worthless piece of horse's ass would know... ~~Is that what we give them? No, not with KMD.~~ VOICE: OWWWW!!! My f@$#ing foot! Damn it, Joey...always had to pick the worst shitholes on earth, didn't ya? ~~Well, maybe a little...but not too much. KMD is a man on a mission...a Canvas Cowboy...Suplex Samauri. This is how he operates, this is how he was taught to operate. Learning discipline from the best of Marine Special Forces Recon, and the skills necessary to take down even the fastest, strongest, and toughest competitors from his old master, he has become over the years, in combination with the experience and calculating precision, one of the best the game can boast...perhaps even THE best. He's had some tough moments since getting back, and troubles never seem to be in short supply for our tragic hero. He's a man with one too many asses to kick, and not enough time to just cool down with a cold beer and smoke some good cigars.~~ VOICE: I have to have one left somewhere...ahh, there she is. Alright, Joey, lets see what the weasel says. ~~The sound of a Zippo lighter can be heard stiking the flint. The crackling and burning of a cigar can also be heard moments later, and then the puffing of a mouth. As the camera backs up, in rapid speed, we hurdle outwards away from KMD, catching a shot of the old THE TRU$T t-shirt he wears, and then further, to include his hands and a knuckled cigar...further still, catching the bottom of an un-shaven face...further, coming totally onto the figure of KMD...6 foot 6 and 260 pounds of pure Pittsburgh pummeling power. The figure glances around a room, a large warehouse during the day, and takes a long puff from his cigar. He turns, his trenchcoat flourishing behind him in a whirl, and he begins to walk, rubber on cement, grinding broken glass and kicking scraps of metal out of the way, knocking them aside with his foot. He makes his way to the entrance, a blast of pure white, the daytime sky greets him. He turns back around, looking back into the warehouse.~~ KMD: What are you thinking, Joey...what the shit are you thinking...? ~~He shakes his bandanna-covered head and sighs.~~ KMD: Not in New York anywhere. ~~He takes another long pull from the cigar, and then turns around, quickly, leather trenchcoat flailing behind him. The light...the brightness of the day...swallows him. Somewhere, off in the distance, we hear the honking of horns and the sound of a couple million people trekking down sidewalks. Closer, still, we hear the sound of a boat...the blaring of its low, deep horn. A moment later, as things begin to clear, we hear the sound of an old engine fire and burn...the sound of a motorcycle, an older motorcycle, flair up...and then take off. We fade to black.~~ ~~We fade back to a shot of a shitty-looking pub. The room is dimly lit, and there are very few people in the place. Country music blares on a radio, static-encrusted and twangy. The wood in the place has all the same grungy faded brown color, and the upholstry of every seat in the place is patched with duct tape. The door swings open, and light rushes into the darkened room. The few patrons sitting around squint and look away at the door when the figure of KMD walks in with a pissed off look in his eyes. He knuckles the remaining stub of his cigar, and takes a puff as he surveys the room, door slamming back into place and drenching the room in dank darkness once again. KMD walks forward, to the bar. The patrons, filthy and gap-toothed, stare at him over dirty beer glasses.~~ KMD: Skinny. ~~The camera turns, setting itself above the bar, between KMD and a big man with a bulbous gut poking out from under a wife-beater. The man, greasy and balding, looks at KMD, squinting. He looks away and begins to wipe the bar with a rag.~~ KMD: You look me in the eye you piece of filth. SKINNY: I ain't got nothin' to do with you, MacDougan. You'd best jump back on that bike and get the hell out of town. ~~Krev chuckles as the sits down at the bar. The bartender, Skinny, looks up at KMD, surprised.~~ KMD: I'm not laughing because I think that was funny. SKINNY: Then what you laughing at? ~~KMD grabs the man, slamming his face down onto the bar. His arms spread out as they try to pull his body from the bar...to no avail. The patrons don't move, only look up, un moving, frightened. Krev grabs the back of the man's pants...his boxer shorts that are sticking up out of them, and pulls them clear up to his head, ripping fabric and pulling out only shreds of what was...as one imagines...a complete pair of underwear. He lets go, and Skinny pushes himself back, stumbling into the mirrored glass behind him, elastic band dangling around his neck. KMD stands there, grin stretched across his face.~~ KMD: I'm laughing at that. SKINNY: I told you- ~~Skinny takes a step forward, and KMD reaches up and under the bar, pulling out a shotgun. He holds out the shotgun to Skinny, and breaks it away, spilling out two shells onto the floor. He snaps it shut and puts it down on the bar.~~ KMD: No, Skinny...I don't think so. You're going to listen to me and answer my questions. You give me trouble, I give you trouble. SKINNY: What do you want? ~~KMD sits back down at the bar and picks up a glass. He looks through it, and then looks up at Skinny.~~ KMD: I'd be careful about whoever drank from that glass last...bastard must have a sick obsession with back washing. SKINNY: That was a clean glass. ~~Krev gets a "whoa" look on his face and sets it down. He takes a long puff from his cigar, staring at Skinny.~~ KMD: Right, Skinny. Shawn Hollidays disappeared, and I know damn well for a fact that it was Joey who took him...hell, the man said it himself. You remember Holliday, right? Good. Wheres he at? Where'd Joey take him? SKINNY: I don't know...he doesn't come in here anymore. KMD: Doesn't come in here- BULLSHIT, SKINNY! BULLSHIT! I know damn well he was here just by the way your eyes are twitching. Where did he take 'im, Skinny? ~~Skinny looks away, pulling the elastic band from around his head.~~ KMD: Let me tell you a little story, Skinny. See, there was this guy named Joey Padrino...had it all; the money, the fast cars, the women, the booze, the drugs, the vast collection of luchadore masks...some his, others taken...and, above all, he had one thing that set him apart from everyone else. He never dreamed of power, he had power. Until one thing that will happen, Skinny. Do you know what that thing will be? ~~Skinny looks at KMD and shakes his head back and forth...no.~~ KMD: Me. ~~Skinny gets a sour look on his face and begins to walk away from KMD, waving his hand at him. KMD leaps out of the stool and grabs Skinny by the neck, forcing his face back down onto the bar. Skinny clutches at his ass, trying to keep him from grabbing anything else. Instead, KMD rolls Skinny over onto his back, holding him down with an elbow, looking up into KMD's face. Sweat runs down the face of Skinny. A patron stands up, and KMD turns around, still holding down Skinny, and points at him.~~ KMD: You'd best stay right there, son. We wouldn't want a grease monkey like you getting your filth all over the place. Sit. Sit the shit down. ~~The patron, a man in a greasy mesh back ball cap and overalls, plops himself back down into the chair. KMD turns back to Skinny.~~ KMD: I've had about enough of this shit, Skinny...one more thing piling up won't make things any better. Don't do something that will piss me off, otherwise I just might slip. ~~Krev takes a long puff from his cigar, and blows the smoke in Skinny's face. Instead of bringing the fist back to his side, he brings it over Skinny's face, cigar butt dangling inches above his right eye. KMD begins again.~~ KMD: You don't want me to slip, do you? ~~Skinny shakes his head 'no'.~~ KMD: Good. Do you know what I'm going through, Skinny? I'm fighting on two fronts here, brother, and that doesn't exactly make me the funnest of guys to be around. On one front...on one filthy front...we have Joey Padrino trying to destroy everything I've worked for...again. I have to face off against a bunch of goons he tricked into playing nice with him and getting nice shiny prizes in return. One of them, Suicide Sid, could be considered as sick as me in the ring...I've seen the tapes, and I'm somewhat impressed. He has the eyes of a fighter...and he knows how to deal pain...hell, he knows how to take pain...but there's one thing that he isn't. Do you know what that is, Skinny? SKINNY: No? KMD: Me, dumbass. Suicide Sid isn't me, and that is why he won't make it back out. There is only going to be one winner at The Rising over the battered little belt we call the Bad-Ass Championship, and it sure as hell isn't going to be Sid...as long as he's working with Padrino. As long as anyone is working with Padrino, I'm going to make sure that their life is a living hell. Know what I'm saying, Skinny. SKINNY: Ya...yes. KMD: Naw...I don't think you quite have it yet. ~~Krev brings the cigar a little closer to Skinny's face, now within 3 inches of his eye. Skinny struggles a little.~~ SKINNY: LET GO OF ME YOU SICK- KMD: Now, now Skinny. Don't try to fight me...that might make me drop something or make something slip. We wouldn't want that, would we? ~~Skinny stops squriming and stares up at KMD, a look of horror across his face.~~ KMD: Good. We have Joey and his goons on one front...Steele, Sid, and White...they're causing more trouble than they're worth...but no matter. We'll take care of them...we always take care of trash like that. Think of it as a custom. But, to complicate things even more on the same front, we have a shitbag called HALO pissed off because I beat him. Because I BEAT him. Sore loser? Not him, not one bit...he seems to be more focused on telling me that it won't happen again, and that he wasn't ready. If he wasn't ready, he shouldn't have stepped into the ring. Plain and simple...but, no. He stepped in, and got knocked the f@#$ back out. Goldberg tactic? No, I don't think so...there were no tactics on my part there, buddy. Pure and simple power going nuts on his sorry wreck of a body. As for a rematch, yeah, he'll get it. We'll dance. I look forward to second shots...I'm a nice guy like that. I'm a nice guy, right Skinny? ~~Skinny shakes a little, staring only at the cigar. The same patron that stood up stands up again.~~ MESHBACK: You're sick is whuts you is. ~~KMD spins around, still holding down Skinny with his forearm. He points the cigar at the guy.~~ KMD: I didn't ask you a goddam thing. Now sit your ass back down before you find yourself in Skinny heres predicament. ~~The man slowly sits back down as KMD turns back to Skinny, and holds the cigar a little closer to his eye. He smiles, winking at Skinny.~~ KMD: Why don't you tell your brother-uncle-father-love-slave to sit his Dixie-whistlin' hillbilly ass back down on that chair before I give you a reason to wear an eyepatch? SKINNY: Sit down, Zeke. KMD: Good. Now, as if this all wasn't enough, and I'm sure you're wishing that this was all there is, I have entered When Worlds Collide...a collection of the greatest fighters from around the globe...to try to spread the word of THE TRU$T a little, and to slowly eat away at Joey's power base. The way I figure it, if we can't take Joey out...and, as unlikely as that sounds, it could happen...if we can't take him out, then we're just going to have to make it a living hell for him to keep any one of us aboard the S.S. Dumbass. By the time he gets anywhere in the IWF, his story will already be world-wide...and, well, I know for a fact that there are quite a few people who just won't stand for his tactics. You know why thats a problem? SKINNY: No. ~~He chuckles, swinging the cigar above Skinny's eyes.~~ KMD: Because, Skinny, that means I have even less time to look for Shawn. I have to fight Kryptonite of all people...a guy with less marbles than a game of checkers. He makes me look like your everyday, average, white-collar office clerk. I know the kid...good guy...but, well, Krypto isn't exactly the kind of guy you want to go into a fight with...unpredictable and all that. No one knows what the kid is thinking...hell, he doesn't know what he's thinking, and I have to fight against THAT. Not a problem, really...I fought entirely off instinct before, and I guess I'll have to do it again. But that is going to have to wait, Skinny. Do you know why? SKINNY: Uh...no? KMD: DAMN IT, SKINNY! Clean the shit out of your ears and listen. I just got done saying that while I have these other things to deal with, I have to be trying to find Shawn too. I tell ya son, you always had a way of pissing me off so much.- ~~KMD steadies the cigar, and drops it down under an inch to Skinny's right eye. Skinny blinks, burning the hairs on his eyelids. Sweat pours from the pores of Skinny's face.~~ KMD: Now, are you ready to tell me where Joey took Shawn? SKINNY: Yeah...of, of, of course. KMD: Good, good. Now, I don't want to play the hot and cold game here...I know Joey'll be pissed if you let this leak, but, well, I don't care. By the time it'll even matter, Joey'll be eating his spaghetti through a straw. You're going to tell me just where he went. None of this me guessing and you telling me yes or no shit. Flat out, now. ~~Skinny swallows hard, watching the cigar dangling above his head. He stares up, eyelids singed, and pale white.~~ KMD: Skinny? You still with us, kid? You didn't forget our little deal, did you? You're still going to tell me, right? SKINNY: S...s...south. He took him south. Thats all he said, honestly. I don't know where after that. KMD: South. How the shit am I supposed to find Joey Padrino by driving south? I'm not going to jump in a car and drive all over the place looking for one guy. Do you think I'm nuts, do you Skinny? ~~Skinny shakes his head 'no'.~~ KMD: You're just saying that so I don't burn you. Of course I'm nuts, Skinny. Do you think I would be taking on Joey Padrino if I wasn't? In any case, I want you to think hard. Think really hard, Skinny...what did Joey say? ~~Skinny begins to breath a little heavier, and sweat pours like a water fountain from his face. We get a sudden shot, fast and rapidly, of Joey sitting in the pub, talking to a couple of guys...Skinny in the back tending bar. The camera, a sort of hazy reconstruction of a memory, spins around the group, coming to a pause of Joey Padrino...and he speaks in slow motion, deep and blending in with the background. The only words we can make out are 'venue' and 'Showdown'.~~ SKINNY: Venue...he said something about the venue...at Showdown. That's all I know...I couldn't hear the rest...the bar was too noisy. ~~Krev pauses, letting go of Skinny and reaching into his back pocket. Skinny lays there, motionless and breathing heavy. Krev unfolds the paper and stares at it for a moment, and then blinks.~~ KMD: Son of a- ~~KMD leans back over Skinny and grabs him by the neck. He stares into Skinny's eyes, jaw jutting out, and pissed off. He brings the cigar back up above Skinny's eye.~~ KMD: I appreciate it, Skinny. Really, I do...but if you will excuse me- ~~Krev slams the cigar butt down toward Skinny...and turns slightly, dropping the butt into a nearby, half-filled dirty mug. It makes a sizzling sound as KMD stands up and dusts himself off. He looks down at Skinny as the camera pans around to behind the bar, getting a frontal shot of KMD.~~ KMD: I have a plane to catch. Oh, and if you see any of those guys in here again...anyone that hangs around with Padrino...I suggest you ask them to leave. It would probably be in your best future interest. ~~KMD turns and walks out of the bar, men staring up at him as he leaves. As the doors slam shut, shutting out the brightness of the day, we pan out a little bit to a more full shot of the bar. Skinny is still laying on the bar, his fat-ass belly hanging out fully now...and a large wet stain around the region of his crotch. We fade to black to the sound of a '65 Harley thundering up outside.~~ |
